A Dance with Vilkas
by arainyspringmorning
Summary: A short story as told by Vilkas after Maiah - the Dragonborn - and Farkas find the shard of Wuuthrad in Dustman's Cairn... Rated M for sexual themes and mature content not suitable for younger audiences. Maybe be expanded upon in the future. Comments/feedback appreciated!


Vilkas reached up to hang the last of the clay lanterns from the pagoda with a smirk of victory. He climbed down from the table, rubbing his aching shoulders and spotted Ria staring at him. He could hear her heart pulsing loud and hot as their gazes met, and she quickly looked away. Vilkas could smell her excitement in her sweat, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as he strode past her with a careful mask hiding his inner thoughts.

When Ria first arrived at Jorrvaskr, she had been bursting with joy and enthusiasm. Her eagerness to learn appealed to Vilkas, and she was rather soft on the eyes, so he chose to be her Shield-Brother—by request, of course.

What Vilkas saw as a mentorship and warrior's opportunity Ria saw as something else, something that Vilkas never intended to have her feel. Now, he could only dismiss her hopeful advancements and tender smiles. Vilkas wouldn't dare hurt the girl's heart, but one day he knew he'd have to. It was a day he was not looking forward to, and it was drawing closer and closer as the young woman's desire grew stronger. He just hoped he'd be able to do the right thing and not settle for something to make her happy.

Vilkas spied Farkas—his twin brother—fighting to keep the door open as he hauled an armful of heavy ropes outside. Skjor was standing in the warm shadow of Jorrvaskr's innards with Aela, who was attempting to tell Farkas to use a rock to prop the door open and make it easier on them all. The burly twin merely grunted and continued with his struggle, and Vilkas chuckled and went to lend a hand.

"For a man who can take down a pair of trolls single-handedly, I'm shocked to see that this door has nearly beaten you," he prodded at his brother's hot temper, receiving a low growl of frustration.

"I can…manage," Farkas muttered, giving the door a last and very mean shove, and stumbled out onto the patio with a bitter grin. He brushed by his brother to take the rope down to the impatiently-waiting Njada, whose foot was audibly tapping against the ground.

Vilkas watched Aela and Skjor come outside, and noticed them pass a glance at each other that seemed to speak volumes. Vilkas knew it was no simple lover's look—he knew full well of Aela and Skjor's nighttime activities on the moors. The stench of elk blood was enough to wake anyone with a nose as good as his.

But it wasn't always elk blood. Vilkas remembered one early morning a mere three years ago, just before the sun was rising over the mountains and blanketing the land in red light. For many years, Kodlak had suspected of Aela and Skjor leaving late into the night to go hunting and in turn, so had Vilkas.

Aela and Skjor had arrived home, and Kodlak was waiting for them in the cold morning fog. Right through the walls of Jorrvaskr, whilst the Companions were crawling from the warmth of their beds to gather fried eggs, bread and cheese for breakfast, they could hear the shouting.

Vilkas remembered running to the door with Farkas to see what was the matter; Aela and Skjor had been naked, their bodies smeared with crimson, their chests heaving with exhilaration and their skin smelling of sweat.

But what stood out the strongest, other than the deep boom of Kodlak's infuriated yell, was the horrifying stench of human blood. Aela's red hair was thick with it. That was the day that Skjor lost the sight in his one eye, and the day that Aela began wearing war paint across her face. "If he is deformed, then I shall be, and we shall share each other's burdens," she had announced when Farkas had asked. Vilkas was smart to remain quiet, and so he had. Not a word of that morning had been spoken since the day it occurred.

Not until Maiah arrived.

The quiet girl met Aela first, so Farkas had said. After missing the Giant—however possible a feat like that could be— and striking Farkas in the thigh, Maiah made herself known. Although Farkas was forgiving about it, Aela wasn't; the woman had criticized the poor girl right to the point that she was hardly able to make her way up the front steps to Jorrvaskr without nearly pissing herself. Vilkas had listened to her little heart thundering like a storm in her chest before making his way down to speak with Kodlak about his issues; if he'd stood there a moment longer, he'd might have flung open the doors himself to drag her in…or to rip her apart and relish in the taste of her flesh and blood.

But that little heart had found its way down the stairs and down the hall, right to hide outside the doors of Kodlak's chambers and listen to a conversation that could have made her turn tail and run. She didn't, though. Instead, she came in when Kodlak beckoned and she introduced herself. Vilkas recalled being quit skeptical of her—with her slight frame and quivering words. He couldn't at all see a warrior in her, and he almost wondered why she'd bothered walking up the steps, until he led her outside to the training yard.

Maiah was a viper, a whirlwind of terror, her dual swords flashing like wings and her strength burning like the soul of a dragon. Vilkas was impressed and dumbfounded by her, and he was almost immediately caught. There was something about the tiny Nord girl that made him feel something Ria, or any other woman, had never awoken in him. At first, he'd been horrified and tried to avoid her as best as he could, believing it to be hunger.

When he took his concerns to Kodlak, the old man had just laughed and told Vilkas the story about a young lass at a bar he'd met in his younger days. Only a single night they'd spent together in the dingy little tavern, but the girl had made him feel a fire brighter than any sun. While he suspected that he'd never fathered any children, he told Vilkas that what he was feeling was not the hunger of the beast—but the hunger of a man. Vilkas had never been so relieved and embarrassed in all his years, and when Maiah arrived from Dustman's Cairn with his brother and a glimmering shard of Wuuthrad, he made sure he was first to greet her at the front steps.

The sun was beginning to lower in the sky, and Secunda was a pale orb in the vast distance. Masser would soon begin to rise and chase the smaller of the two moons across the black velvet blanket, and Vilkas wondered if the lights of Aurora would set the sky alight with colour tonight. He leaned against one of the posts, glad to be clad in a lose tundra-cotton shirt and pants rather than his usual attire of wolf-skin armour. He didn't usually wear what was referred to as miner's clothing, but on a day like today, it didn't matter.

The late afternoon was warm and the breeze was sweet, ruffling his short hair and kissing his jaw. Vilkas watched Farkas struggle to string and tie the ropes along posts around the training yard with a commanding Njada, while Ria and Athis hung lanterns between every post. Torvar was setting up the mead barrels in the middle of the patio, snitching a quick drink every now and then; it was useless to hide his desire for drink since every member of the Circle could smell his intoxication.

Everyone was in the yard with the exception of Kodlak, Vignar and Maiah. Eorlund was pounding away at steel up at the Skyforge, while Brill was working on several wreathes of snowberries and ferns to hang on each post. Half of Whiterun was expected to come to Jorrvaskr that night; a celebratory party was being held for the finding of a shard of Wuuthrad—from everyone up at Dragonsreach to the folks in the city. Hulda and Carlotta were organizing the food while Severio Pelagia had rounded up the men of the city to assist with the farming.

Vilkas could hardly remember the last party held at Jorrvaskr, but it was pleasing to see it happening once more. If he was right, it must have been over twenty years ago, when he and Farkas joined the Circle together. Of course, that was when the brothers shared in on the secret of the Circle—the beast blood ritual—which was the last time the ritual was performed. Vilkas hadn't forgotten that night; it was as though he'd been doused in oil and set afire. His brother's screams of pain as his skin ripped aside to grow thick black fur still haunted his memories whenever he managed to find sleep, but it was when they shifted back to human form that the memories were strongest…

…

_Farkas was lying on the ground, sunken into the snow and hardly moving. His chest was puffing and the lower half of his face and neck was stained red with deer blood. The carcass of the mutilated animal lie only feet away, steam rising from its torn flesh in the cold. Vilkas stumbled up to him, naked in his vulnerable human skin, and dropped to his knees beside his brother. Snowflakes melted before they rested on his skin and left trails of water dripping down his back. He remained where he fell, his face drawn and his pale eyes as horrified as his brothers. He could taste blood, but whether it was beast or human, he did not know. He didn't want to know._

"_What are we?" he managed at last, his breath a white cloud in the air. Farkas didn't respond, and Vilkas almost believed his brother to be dead if not for the rapid beat of his heart in his ears. He could hear and smell everything, from the sweat on his brother's skin to the richness of the deer's meat. It horrified him. His stomach churned unexpectedly and he lurched forward, vomiting a bloody mixture into the snow. His eyes were glued to it in sick fascination, while the human half of his mind tried to decipher whether the blood was of deer or man. _

_The screams of a child awoke in his blurred memory and he raised a shaking hand to clutch his face. _What have I done?

"_We're…monsters," Farkas finally replied. "Vilkas, they made us into monsters!"_

…

"Vilkas!" Farkas' shout startled Vilkas back to the present and he looked up wildly, his body tensing at the aspect of danger. It was a moment before he registered the tone of his brother's voice, and a moment more that he noticed Farkas waving a hand to the ropes.

"Done," he said with a smile, coming up the steps to his brother's side. Vilkas smiled in return and tried to force the memory of his youth back into the corner of his mind. He didn't want to worry about it today. He wanted to be happy.

"Ria is looking at you," Farkas whispered and Vilkas bowed his head with a sigh. "I know," he replied.

"She's smiling."

"Stop looking at her, Farkas," Vilkas snapped softly. His brother looked rather hurt and confused, but Vilkas didn't want to bother himself with explaining his reasons for avoiding Ria _again. _

Farkas seemed to sense Vilkas' shift in mood so he left to help Torvar with the spout on the mead barrel or, more correctly, to help Torvar stop finding excuses to stop drinking all of the mead before the party had been begun. Vilkas could hear the two arguing about the spout as he pushed away from the post and went into the silence within Jorrvaskr.

Climbing down the stairs to the lower levels, he politely worked his way around Tilma, the old maid, and sauntered tiredly down the hall to the door of his bedroom. He was about to push open the door when he heard voices talking. He hesitated and focused, recognizing Kodlak and Maiah's accents. He heard the word 'werewolf' and quickly blocked out the words, pushing open the door and closing them quietly behind him. He sank down onto his bed and rolled onto his side, facing the wall, staring at the cracks and grooves in the wall. He saw his own name, scratched into the grey stone in faded whitish letters.

He closed his eyes and longed for peace, but all he could hear was the steady thrumming of Maiah's nearby heart.

…

Night came quickly and Vilkas' sleep was for once unbothered. It was strange to have slept so soundly for the first time in years, and he wondered if he was possibly dreaming. A quick nip to the back of his hand told him he wasn't, and he stared at the bead of blood blossoming from the nicked vein.

Vilkas ruffled his hair into some resemblance of tidiness and splashed cool water from the basin onto his sleepy face. He yawned and, recoiling at the state of his breath, reached for the wrapped package of imported mint leaves from Cyrodiil. It wasn't much, and the leaves were drying out and beginning to crumble with age, but it _was_ something. Nevertheless, Vilkas still rinsed his mouth out in the basin and checked his breath—twice.

Humoured by his careful attention to himself, and wondering why exactly he was paying such care, he pulled open his bedroom door and came face to face with Kodlak.

Kodlak Whitemane was not a young man, but his shoulders were broad and he still stood half a head taller than Vilkas. The Harbinger smiled through his thick white beard and muttered a soft apology for obviously startling the younger man.

"You slept peacefully," Kodlak said, immediately getting to the point of his appearance rather than dallying, as several others might have. Vilkas liked that about the Harbinger—he was considerate and quite blunt—and he often hoped that others viewed he as that too.

"Aye," Vilkas replied. "I'm as surprised as you are. I haven't had a decent rest since…"

"Since they turned you."

Kodlak never referred to himself as one who assisted, or participated, in the ritual of turning whelps into werewolves. He believed it was wrong to ally with Hircine rather than to live as a man and go to Sovngarde. While a werewolf himself, Kodlak had tirelessly searched for a cure to what he called a 'disease', and Vilkas had not helped him. The beast blood was not a blessing, as how Aela and Skjor saw it, but it was simply part of him. Vilkas had had the conversation with Kodlak many times, usually initiated by the Harbinger, but it was not what Kodlak wanted to talk to him about now.

"What is it, Kodlak? Something troubling your mind?" Vilkas asked, welcoming Kodlak into his room. He led him to the little table where several bottles of different drinks were arranged with a few cups. Pouring the Harbinger a drink from a bottle of spiced wine, Vilkas made to sit but Kodlak waved his hand.

"Nothing's troubling me, Vilkas. I suppose I am merely…curious," Kodlak said. "What are your thoughts on the girl?"

"Ria?" Vilkas raised an eyebrow. "What about her?"

"No, not Ria," Kodlak sighed and decided to sit down, swirling the spiced wine in the cup thoughtfully. "I'm talking about Maiah."

"Maiah?" Vilkas echoed. "Is something wrong? I heard the two of you talking earlier about…"

"Yes, we spoke about that. She saw Farkas turn," Kodlak pursed his lips. Vilkas started in surprise for a second time.

"Farkas turned in front of her?" Vilkas exclaimed. "Why in Oblivion…"

"They were attacked by Silver Hands. Maiah was trapped and they swarmed on Farkas. She told me that they were…hunting him," Kodlak murmured. "I'm certain either of them will fill you in on the rest."

Vilkas sighed and sat across from Kodlak, pouring himself a reasonable amount of spiced wine and gulping it. He already knew that Farkas' story would be exaggerated, and full of holes, but that's not where Vilkas' concerned lay. Instead, it lay with Maiah and her reaction to the Circle being full of werewolves—something she should have been told rather than abruptly shown—and that the Silver Hands tried to kill his brother. With the spiced wine buzzing unpleasantly—for once—in his throat, he returned his flinty gaze to Kodlak, who was watching him tiredly.

"This…could be a problem," Vilkas finally muttered and Kodlak nodded. "Silver Hands...why were they there? Why were they hunting my brother?"

"It could have been any of us," Kodlak reasoned. "You, me, Aela, Skjor…any of us. I suppose that sending you would have been a far wiser choice, but it also might not have been, knowing how you handle your anger." The Harbinger raised an eyebrow and Vilkas' cheeks flushed with shame.

Yes, it was hard for him to control the beast blood flowing in his veins, and his fragile hold on remaining calm seemed to be lessening and lessening with every year. It was as though the beast wanted to tear what was left of Vilkas down to take his place…or perhaps that was just him. Maybe he _was _the beast already, hidden under the thin skin of a human man. The thought left him queasy.

"I'd have might have gotten the story better," Vilkas whispered. "But would've Maiah survived?"

"And that is why I sent Farkas." Kodlak leaned forward and placed his wrinkled hand on Vilkas' closed fist. The calluses and size of his hand once belonged to a warrior as strong and deadly as they come, but the wrinkles and bluish veins left Vilkas feeling ebbs of pity for the Harbinger. He daren't tell Kodlak, but it was if the Harbinger knew from the way his eyes sparked with a youthful fire.

"Vilkas, I know you well. You and Farkas, and everyone else, are like children to me. I've seen you grow into the men and women you are today…"

"And the monsters," Villas interrupted.

"Into the men and women you are today," Kodlak repeated firmly. "And I knew that sending Farkas would bring us a different story than you'd might have. I could not risk losing anyone, and I will not, and that is why I chose Farkas as Maiah's Shield-Brother.

"I'd have once believed that you would have more control over the beast blood, but a mind does not always make a man. It is the heart. Your brother knows nothing but loyalty and love, for you and for us all. But you, my dear Vilkas, you let your mind run your heart and that is why you will always suffer the curse of the beast blood more than Farkas," Kodlak finished gently. Vilkas' eyes prickled from the truth in the Harbinger's words, and although he was not all that grateful to have heard them, he respected that Kodlak would rather tell him the blunt truth than spin a lie. Vilkas pulled his hand away from Kodlak and looked down at his soft leather shoes. He couldn't seem to find the words to speak.

Instead, he listened to the staggering heartbeat of the Harbinger, a pulse that was tired and slow. He could smell Kodlak's heart but there was no desire for the flesh. This heartbeat was familiar, one that belonged to someone who could be called family—part of the pack if Vilkas were to imagine it was a werewolf. He pushed the sound away, willing his human mind to cloud the beast's judgement, and stood.

"I'd best talk to Maiah about Dustman's," he announced, striding to the door and leaving the old man.

"Vilkas, wait."

Vilkas' feet were planted to the ground and his muscles shuddered that the speed in which he obeyed. Kodlak rose stiffly, the sounds of shaking muscle and creaking bones explosions in Vilkas' listening ears. Kodlak came to his side and squeezed his shoulder.

"Do not take my words for disappointment. Learn to follow this," he poked a finger to the center of Vilkas' chest where his heart thudded rhythmically, before pointing to Vilkas' forehead. "And not so much of that."

"Do you think that will really work?" Vilkas asked hopefully. Kodlak merely shrugged his shoulders and stepped past him, returning to his own room at the end of the hallway. Vilkas watched him go, a little confusedly, before turning on his heel and heading the opposite way to find either his brother or Maiah—whomever he happened across first.

Kodlak, however, leaned against his bedroom door out of sight and stared at the chair where Vilkas often came to sit and talk to him about his personal fears. "I can only hope that it will help," he sighed his forlorn response, too soft for the boy to have heard, but for that he was thankful.

…

It was late evening when Vilkas stepped outside. The only traces of the sun were the dull plum smears in the furthest reaches of the western horizon. The air was cool and soft for late summer—a blessing. Vilkas started down the steps and headed toward Farkas, who was reclining next to Torvar on one of the benches shoved along the edge.

"I bet I'll drink more than you," Torvar was saying as Vilkas came within earshot. Farkas opened his mouth to reply but looked up at Vilkas, who smiled and made to sit. He was stopped short when he sensed a presence draw near him.

Struggling to keep his face composed, he looked up at Ria, who was offering him a bottle of Nord ale. Her reddish war paint had been wiped off and her dark hair was let down from the tidy coils she often wore during the day, leaving it curling down her shoulders. She wore a simple burgundy dress that was a size too big and had been washed recently; the hems were damp and the laces across the not-fully-done-up bodice were untied and allowed the bronze curves of her breasts to peep through. Vilkas looked away and at her face, focusing on a stray strand hanging over one bright hazel eye.

"Thirsty?" she asked, her voice slightly ragged. Vilkas could smell her longing, thick and as strong as dog piss; the smell was unsatisfying and sharp, and didn't appeal to Vilkas. Perhaps it would to another man, or another werewolf, but not to him. He clenched his teeth, wondering how to turn her away without being cruel as he hastily accepted the bottle. It was cold under his touch.

"Cold ale?" he asked, desperate to place the subject elsewhere. "What are you Imperials giving us Nords these days?"

"I hope it's something good," Ria murmured, shifting onto one foot and curving her hip slightly. Vilkas could smell something else on her, something potent and sweet coming from the base of her neck and from between her breasts. It reminded him of lavender, but he didn't dare ask. He'd just fall even further into the trap she was desperately spinning.

"Ria," he said, reaching out and placing his hands firmly on her shoulders and forcing her to stop her act and look at him straight in the face. "This has to stop."

"What are you talking about?" Ria tried to smile, but nothing could hide the sudden rapid thudding of her heart—a song of doom and fear. Vilkas wanted to close his eyes and walk away, but he couldn't take it anymore. He needed Ria to know the truth, and that she had to find someone else worthy of her affections. Vilkas was flattered, truly, but the Imperial woman wasn't…she wasn't the right woman. He had to cut the ties now—it was all he could do.

"I know how you feel about me," he said briskly. "But you have to stop. I'm…I am not going to return your affections. I can't, and I'm sorry."

Vilkas watched her absorb the words, and he felt her shoulders sharpen under his hands. Seeing the light in her eyes fade and become replaced with a pained coldness was…horrible. Vilkas let go of her shoulders and took a step back, distancing himself. He saw her flinch and he smelled her burst of rage and distortion.

"Very well," she spoke very calmly, her tone steely. She whisked away from Vilkas, her hair rippling like dark currents of water, and disappeared through the doors into Jorrvaskr, letting the door bang. Vilkas heard a plate smash after a moment and he let his eyes close in something that felt like relief, but it wasn't so pleasant as he'd hoped.

Vilkas stumbled backwards, exhausted from the effort it took, and he noticed Farkas staring at him. Vilkas merely shook his head and sighed. He couldn't take it back now, but he could feel a slight weight lifted from his shoulders.

A rumble of laughter and calling sounded at the bottom of the steps ad Vilkas looked to see Jarl Balgruuf the Greater striding onto the patio with Proventus Avenicci, his frantic little steward, and Hrongar, his feral brother. Irileth was close behind the Jarl, her flinty crimson eyes skewering the Companions. As a woman, she was ferocious and as a Dunmer, she was unquestionably terrifying to study too long. Her eyes found Vilkas staring and he looked beyond her quickly.

"Ah, my Jarl," Kodlak came through the doors and strode towards the Jarl with a smile. "So good of you to join us for our celebration. Please, be seated and help yourself to some food and drink."

"Harbinger, Kodlak," Balgruuf greeted, offering his hand and leading Kodlak to the set of six chairs around a table away from the lights and noise. Proventus and Hrongar made for the plates of food, while Irileth seated next to the Jarl. Vilkas watched her check the wine bottle before serving some to Balgruuf, which he accepted gratefully. Vilkas could hear Kodlak and the Jarl settle into a quiet conversation as Hrongar and Proventus returned with a plate of toasted bread topped with roasted garlic, sliced tomato and fragrant shaved eidar cheese.

By then, several people had shown up. Vilkas glimpsed Ysolda carrying a basket, and Severio Pelagia was hauling in a cart of vegetables that Tilda hurried to. Many other citizens, from Uthgerd to Mikael, and even the pompous ass Nazeem, were milling around getting drinks and taking to faces they saw nearly every day. Amren and his family were just arriving with a bottle of Alto Wine and a loaf of braided bread.

"The Jarl is here," Farkas said with a smile. "I wonder if I'll get a chance to say hello to him."

"You've spoken with him before, meathead," Vilkas thumped his brother's shoulder affectionately. "Go see if there's any of what Proventus took over there at the tables. And grab a bottle of spiced wine, why don't you?"

Farkas left to do his brother's bidding with a mock-angry glance, and Vilkas leaned back chuckling to himself. He glanced up at the lanterns above his head and further above, the stars glinting in the black sky, shining between swaths of red and blue light. It was very beautiful, he had to admit.

The door to Jorrvaskr creaked open and Vilkas caught Maiah's scent. He dropped his eyes and found her, and he felt his heart flip as he _truly saw her._

She wore a thin white dress of spun tundra cotton, and the bottom hem was painted with little green and amber flowers, which thinned out as they crept up the skirt. The dress clung to her waist and breasts, but hung loose and fell down to her feet, which he noted were bare. Her long messy hair was brushed and drawn back with some kind of metal pin, and the rest tumbled down her shoulders. She looked nervous and her heart was a steady _th-thud, th-thud, th-thud._

Maiah glimpsed Vilkas staring at her in what must have been surprise or admiration—he wasn't too sure—and she walked as quickly as she dared down the steps and to the bench beside him. She sat quickly, her hip touching his. Her heart was loud in his ears, and her fear-scent was a heavy tang.

"Nervous?" Vilkas asked, half-smiling in sympathy. Maiah nodded, the curled ringlets around her face bouncing. Her eyes darted around like a wild animal's, studying the people beginning to arrive with food, trinkets and wine. Her stomach growled and Vilkas laughed, and Maiah's shoulders relaxed.

"Hungry?" he asked, starting to stand in case she wanted something to eat. Vilkas was hungry himself, but it suddenly seemed nicer to be able to share it with someone. Maiah hesitated, but stood and followed close behind Vilkas. Vilkas stepped around Farkas, who'd become distracted in the challenge of a drinking contest with Brenuin, and stopped at the tables of food.

Venison steaks, chunked potatoes smothered in butter, grilled chicken breasts and leeks, fried tomatoes, toasted bread and cheese and more were stacked upon large silver trays and plates. There were three soups: Horker, vegetable and potato. Fresh and cooked vegetables sat at the far end where little Mila had been strategically placed. On another table was a collection of mead, ale and wines, and the final table was the desserts. Every type of crostata, pie or pudding had been whipped up and served beside honey-nut treats, boiled cream treats and enough sweetrolls to shut up a mouthy guard. Vilkas and Maiah stared at all of the food with wide eyes.

"I've never seen so much food," Maiah whispered. "It all looks so good."

"Heh, aye," Vilkas agreed. He reached for plates and passed one to Maiah with a raised eyebrow. "How much can you eat in one sitting?"

Maiah's face changed swiftly to a sly smirk, suddenly relaxed and distracted at the prospect of a challenge, and she grinned at him, "Probably more than you."

"Let's test that theory!" Vilkas bumped her shoulder and started snatching food, piling his plate high with venison and potatoes. He found the toasted bread topped with all sorts of different combinations, and he chose the one similar to what Proventus Avenicci had gotten. He couldn't help but take a quick—and delicious—bite.

A glance at Maiah's plate surprised him. She had a little bit of everything, from meat to vegetables, to fish and sweets. She'd collected a bowl and was pouring vegetable soup into it, and she grabbed a loaf of baked bread to rest on top as she returned to Vilkas with a happy smile, balancing her bowl and plate. "I've got my fill," she said.

"Same. Here, let's sit over there," Vilkas pointed to the table not far from the Jarl and Kodlak's. They weaved through the crowd and placed their dishes on the table. Maiah seemed content to sit beside Vilkas, and she quickly started with her soup. It was brimming with every vegetable that grew in Skyrim and swam in a thick tomato-broth sauce. Vilkas chose to start with his venison, and watched the still-growing crowd as he chewed the tender meat. He noticed that most of the Battle-Borns had arrived, and he felt a pinch of worry of how things might turn out when the rest of Eorlund Greymane's family showed up—if they showed up at all. Vilkas had heard the rumours that the Greymanes believed the Battle-Borns were keeping their son imprisoned somewhere. He didn't know what to think of it, and he was sure Eorlund's wife and son wouldn't show.

It was quite a bit of time that passed before both of their plates were nearly empty. Vilkas was scraping together the last of his grilled leeks while Maiah was finishing her jazbay crostata. Her lips were tinged a purplish-red from the thick gooey sauce. Vilkas knew how good they were and didn't bother to tell Maiah about the warm jelly smearing her mouth. He wondered who'd made the crostatas when Maiah swallowed the last piece and belched. Her face flushed dark red and she pardoned herself softly, and Vilkas found himself snorting a responsive laugh. He certainly couldn't beat her there.

"Ugh, I'm stuffed," Maiah groaned, pouring her cup full of water from a vase on the table and sipping it slowly. Vilkas eyed the little Nord's empty plate and raised an eyebrow. The poor girl didn't even have room for seconds, not that there was much left on the tables. Nearly everyone had piled their plates half as high as Maiah's, and were all chewing and laughing and talking in little clusters. Vilkas and Maiah sat quietly, their stomachs grumbling contentedly, absently listening to the company murmuring about every topic imaginable. Vilkas strained to listen to Balgruuf and Kodlak's conversation, but his concentration was broken by the sudden rambunctious playing of a drum, a flute and a lute.

Mere moments later, every person at the celebration was stomping their feet, clapping their hands and roaring a lively version of what must have been vocals to _Ragnar the Red. _He glanced at Maiah, who was smiling amusedly as she watched the liveliness of Whiterun's folk. Vilkas noticed that even Proventus was hauled into the fray with Hrongar, who was bellowing the words to the song as he dragged the little balding Imperial behind him. Proventus looked clearly terrified, and would be certain to be plotting revenge on Hrongar. Jarl Balgruuf was laughing with Kodlak, while Irileth crossed her arms and looked out over the wall at the darkened plains. Vilkas glimpsed the white of her grin.

Vilkas sensed his brother ambling towards them, the smell of his mind and breath heavy with alcohol. The towering Nord came to stand in front of Maiah, clutching a tankard and wearing a wolfish grin. Vilkas rolled his eyes in exasperation. Sometimes, he wondered if Farkas was his brother, or just some poor laddie his father had found who just happened to look like him.

"Wanna dance, Maiah?" Farkas asked, his words slurring, and the girl blushed and shook her head, a little apologetically.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Shield-Brother, but I have no interest in dancing tonight," she replied over the noise of the Nords' booming final chorus, followed by clapping and cheers.

Farkas, who looked rather miffed, cast Vilkas a hard glare and swaggered unsteadily away towards the mead barrel in the center of the dancing bodies. He watched him yank the tankard from Torvar's hand and fling his head back to drink from it hastily, unaware of the ale spilling from his own tankard onto his foot.

Maiah was picking at the crumbs on her plate, her face a bit crestfallen, and she stood up when she spotted Vilkas looking at her. She made for the doors to Jorrvaskr and Vilkas, worried that something was wrong, followed her swiftly and grabbed her arm. She almost bumped headfirst into the door and she peered at him through her hanging bangs shielding her eyes.

"What is it?" Vilkas asked. "Don't worry about upsetting my brother. He'll have forgotten by tomorrow morning."

Maiah shrugged. "I should have though, right? I mean, he did save my life in the cairn…"

"No," Vilkas shook his head and firmly gripped Maiah's shoulders in his hands. "Farkas is forgiving. He's dense, but he has a big enough heart to forgive. He won't remember this as rejection." He glanced over at his brother, who was already attempting to challenge Nazeem to an arm-wrestling challenge. "I doubt he will remember this at all. Now if I'd asked you…" he shrugged, not really knowing what to say.

Maiah chuckled and pushed the hanging strands out of her face with a sigh. One stand fell back over her eye and before she could move it, Vilkas reached out and instinctively brushed it aside and tucked it behind her ear. He noticed that the tip of her ear was curved into a slight point, and he briefly wondered if the little Nord had Elf-blood running in her veins. He smelled her heart pulse loudly at his touch, distracting him from his thoughts. He met her half-lidded eyes, looking down at the ground with a formal shyness.

The crowd behind them hushed and the distant scuffing of chairs scraped over the stone. The sound of a lute began to play low and faint, and two others joined with the gentle beat of a drum and the whisper of a flute. The song was old, ancient and bare, and Vilkas found himself saying, "Dance with me."

Maiah's eyes flickered, her posture tensing and her jaw shifting to say no, but when her eyes found Vilkas', something visibly changed. Her cool fingers entwined with Vilkas', her gaze locked on his, her heart a gentle _Thu'um. _ Vilkas carefully led Maiah down the steps, his fingers curling into hers, and turned to face the little Nord.

Placing a hand on her waist and tightening his grip on her hand, he summoned whatever memory of dancing he had and let himself flow with the sound of the whistling flute and the throb of the drum. Maiah moved a bit stiffly, her spine straight and bent at Vilkas' light touch, and although her feet kept pace, she was as rickety as an automaton.

Vilkas, realizing why she'd said no, slid his hand a little higher up her back in a soothing gesture. Her eyes were fluttering back and forth as she concentrated, but at the tender movement, they flicked up and focused on Vilkas' face. The corner of Vilkas' mouth curled and Maiah presented him with a shaky grin. She stepped a bit closer and her body softened, as though she'd remembered it was only Vilkas.

Maiah then pressed close, her soft breasts and stomach flattening as she submerged herself into the song. Her eyes were closed and Vilkas could hear her throat humming the song several octaves too low for any ordinary man to have heard. He felt something awake with Maiah; a timid longing, young and unexplored, burning very deep within her. He could taste it ebbing from her skin, drawing him in like a moth to flame. Her dress swished against their legs and her hair tangled with Vilkas' hand, binding her to him. He pressed his face down into her hair, tasting her scent, letting the beat of her heart sooth his own.

Too soon, much too soon, Mikael played the last note of the song and the drum faded under palm. Maiah seemed frozen, her fingers curled into the fabric at Vilkas' shoulder. As the first notes of _The Dragonborn Comes _began to rumble, Maiah suddenly jerked to attention and released her hold on Vilkas' shirt. Her cheeks stained red, guiltily in a way as though they'd been seen by someone, despite being completely surrounded by more than half of Whiterun. Vilkas followed her gaze, just behind him, and saw Jon Battle-Born.

Vilkas quietly watched the Battle-Born son approach. The Nord's eyes lit up as they found Maiah and he grinned cheerfully. Vilkas turned his head away and focused on a nearby lantern glowing dimly on a table.

"Maiah, how good to see you!" Jon was saying, his voice too loud, drowning out the slowing beat on Maiah's heart. Vilkas' instincts were telling him to wrap an arm around her, to press her to the ground and hide her from the danger, but what danger? He took a deep breath. Something…something wasn't right.

"Great," Maiah replied. "Come for the party? Or the mead?"

"Haha! You certainly know what I like, don't you, my friend?" Jon laughed.

_A field of snow…_

"Care to share a drink with me, Maiah?" Jon asked, offering his hand. Vilkas glimpsed Maiah shift towards him, and as Jon's outstretched hand came into view, Vilkas' body jerked and he made a sound that belonged to no ordinary human. Jon jumped in fright and Maiah's eyes fluttered sideways. Her hand touched Vilkas' arm and Vilkas felt two sets of eyes on him—one belonged to one of old and the other belonged to one who shared his face. Vilkas let out a shaky breath.

_I'm the danger. I'm…!_

"Sorry, I have…something in my throat," Vilkas faked a cough, feeling Maiah's fingers tighten before falling away. He brushed by Jon Battle-Born and hurried down the steps. He could feel Kodlak's eyes searing hot into his back and he rushed around the side of Jorrvaskr to the front steps. It was quiet and dark, not a soul in sight, and Vilkas considered keeping on running but he couldn't for the pain in his head.

There he stopped, panting and trembling. He could feel something wild coursing in his blood, tugging his skin. He thought of snow, of blood, of a child crying…of little Mila. The beast churned madly within, vying to be free. Vilkas let out a feeble whine and he pressed his hands to his head, doubling over as energy rippled in his core.

_A child screaming and crying in a spray of red-stained snow…oh, gods no!_

"Vilkas...?"

"_No! Go!" _Vilkas roared, horrified, as Maiah's gentle voice spoke nearby. He stumbled forward, reaching for the door and missing, trying to escape her, escape the rhythm of her beautiful, delicious heart…

The second whine was harsher and broken by a snarl.

Maiah was then _right there _behind him, her one hand a butterfly's kiss on his back, her heart becoming a pitter-patter of sound. He knew she was speaking, but her words were gone, whisked away. He felt his bones beginning to ache, but he fought to keep the beast in. He couldn't do this, he couldn't change. Not with Maiah standing right behind him. A single slice of his claws would leave her a gorged mess on the ground. He could envision her pretty dress torn and soaked in red. _Her pretty dress, her staring eyes…_

"Maiah, go," he groaned, leaning against the wall of Jorrvaskr, keeping his back turned. He didn't have the energy to turn and shove her away. He didn't have the control to _gently _shove. If he so much as touched her…

But Maiah didn't leave. She instead closed the distance between them, wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed her cheek between his shoulder blades. Vilkas covered his face with his hands and shook with fear. _Please…oh please leave me, Maiah. Save yourself._

Vilkas sank to his knees and Maiah followed, forbidding herself to let go. He hunched forward, painful bile in his throat, a booming in his head, Maiah's tender body against his. He could feel something within him, something gentle and soft, and he clung to whatever it was. It was the opposite of every horrible thing that he was feeling, the only speck of light in this dark, dark place. It was like swimming with a hundred pounds strapped to his chest, and he was drowning, drowning but still fighting for the surface.

The beast growled and shrank away, and Vilkas' weak cries of hunger faded to harsh gasps.

"I'm here, Vilkas. Shh, I'm here," Maiah was whispering in his ear, her chin a sharp bone on his shoulder. He leaned back against her, feeling her soft, small breasts flatten against his spine, feeling her arms clutch around his chest like a living vice. He let out a breath, his eyes rolling and shutting, feeling peace—feeling humanity—return to his soul. Maiah's lips were a light press on the side of his neck and she rocked him slightly.

"Why…why would you risk your life?" Vilkas sighed aloud once he found the air to speak, slightly angered at her foolishness but too grateful to truly care. He wanted to ask her why she was such a fool, but he couldn't bring himself too. Maiah moved one hand down his chest to loop her fingers with his, and Vilkas felt a flicker of emotion drifting from her. It wasn't only contentedness or relief. It was something a little stronger. Compassion?

"I suppose I care," Maiah suggested, sounding not too certain herself. "I knew something was wrong when you left so abruptly. I could almost smell your anger…"

"You…what?" Vilkas exclaimed, startled, attempting to turn and face the little Nord but couldn't. Her legs were curled into his one side, blocking him from turning, and she was surprisingly strong. She remained quiet until Vilkas relaxed his weight against her and would listen.

"I meant 'taste'. It's not as though I'm a werewolf," she attempted to joke but her heart sure wasn't in it. "What was that all about though, Vil?"

_Vil? Is that some kind of nickname? _"I…I…I don't…" he stammered.

"You were jealous," Maiah answered for him and he felt his face turn red.

"Aye. I think I was," he murmured and Maiah laughed, her chest shaking against his back. Vilkas smiled. "Do you think it's strange?"

"To be jealous? No," she said. "But I do think it's rather odd that you've become so interested so soon after Ria."

"No," Vilkas said more sharply than he'd intended. "Sorry. I'm…it wasn't like that. There was no relationship, nothing of the sort."

"It sure seemed like it," she replied. "She almost bit my head off inside."

_No, _I _almost bit your head off. _"She…Ria admired me for a long time. I trained her and we went all across Skyrim together. I wasn't surprised that she gained a…a certain kind of affection."

"What was it about her, then?" Maiah murmured, as though she understood she was delving into dangerous territory. "She was obviously in love with you."

"Aye, I believe you're right. Well…this might sound strange, but she smelled wrong to me," Vilkas admitted sheepishly. Maiah stirred in confusion.

"What?"

"I…every woman…every _person_…has a scent about them. It's a distinctive smell. Say…Carlotta smells like carrots and canis root, Ysolda like Sleeping Tree sap and leeks. My brother smells like wolf, and that is how I can tell him apart from a crowd of…normal people."

"You rely on smell to recognize others," Maiah pondered. "What do I smell like?"

Vilkas turned his head, his left eye spotting her leaning her head against his shoulder. He breathed in her scent, her decadent and invigorating scent. Words were once very difficult to find, since it was all feels and smells. "You are…sweet…a moist tenderness, like biting into a succulent piece of venison. You feel like a warm bed on a winter's night and you are as homely as a baking apple pie. You feel…you smell like the hunt, like hunger and blood and tender flesh. _Ohhh…_" he fell into Maiah's essence and submerged his senses.

Maiah was silent, her hand still holding Vilkas' and her face warm though the cloth of his shirt. He could hear her blood rushing like a river in her veins and arteries as her heart picked up speed at his low moan. Vilkas bit his lip, his words echoing in his head…and he blushed in half embarrassment, half nervousness. He was glad he was turned away from her so she couldn't see his face. Maiah squeezed his hand and he felt her hips shift inward. Vilkas could smell her other scent, her heat.

_A lush valley of green and trees, as far as my eyes can see…_

Unable to contain himself, he twisted in her hold and faced her, studying her flushed face. Vilkas leaned forward, digging his fingers into her hair below the jeweled clasp and pressing his mouth to hers. Maiah responded quickly, her lips and tongue toying against his own. Her legs parted below him and he settled down on her, supporting the back of her neck with one hand and sliding his hands down between her thighs. He touched her and she gasped, her lips stilling before continuing their fierce kissing. Maiah bucked and moaned against him, and he broke the kiss to lick and nibble his way down her slender jaw to her pale neck. He pressed a firm kiss to the base of her soft throat, so vulnerable to a man like him, and he slid his fingers within her.

_There's song and dance and happiness all around, no snow to be found…_

Maiah was like a deer sprinting across an open field. Her body arched and her mouth was open. Vilkas couldn't believe the exotic beauty of her raw pleasure. He was gentle with her, or as gentle as he could be with the way her fingers dug into his arms, biting with her nails. He could feel a shredding pain within him, a desire stronger than the hunger of the beast. _The hunger of a man _Kodlak had said. Vilkas felt it clawing at him now. He _wanted _her.

"Vil…Vilkas," Maiah gasped suddenly. "Some…someone. Someone is…someone's coming!"

Vilkas' mind jolted and he abruptly stood, pulling Maiah up with him. Maiah adjusted her dress and leaned against the wall with all the innocence of a causal customer, and Vilkas followed suite, crossing his arms across his chest as Farkas came around the corner.

"Ah, there you are. Kodlak was getting worried," he said. He hoped Farkas wouldn't notice anything...and he suspected that he wouldn't. "Eorlund was looking for you, Maiah."

"Oh?" she asked, her voice a croon. She coughed quickly, rubbing the back of her neck under her messy hair. Vilkas _just_ stopped himself from reaching out to adjust the mussed waves of dark honey auburn. Vilkas tore his eyes away from watching Maiah disappear around the side of Jorrvaskr, fluttering with the skirt of her dress and ruffling her hair in a distracted manner. Farkas turned to look in Vilkas' eyes the moment she was gone, and Vilkas' heart dropped.

Farkas knew.

"Is this why you turned down Ria?" his brother asked coldly.

Vilkas sighed and shook his head. "Of all people, you would understand, brother. You understand how we chose from hundreds of women."

"Ria smelled fine to me!"

"But that's you!" Vilkas snapped. "And this is me. Maiah…Maiah is all I've been looking for. I actually haven't been _looking_, but here she is."

"You could have killed her," Farkas growled. "You could've made a big mistake."

"But I didn't. If it had been Ria or anyone else…"

"You should talk to Kodlak about this," Farkas turned away to follow in the direction Maiah had gone. Vilkas grumbled to himself, running a hand through his hair and following to find Maiah standing in the middle of the patio, unwrapping a set of dual Skyforge Steel swords. She unsheathed one and he listened to her heart jump in delight as it caught the light of the clay lanterns. The leather sheathes were carved with the Companions symbol—Wuuthrad—and the swords had familiar imprints carved into them - little serpentine dragons. Vilkas smiled, admiring the sleekness of the new blade just as much as she, although he wondered the significance of the dragons.

"Thank you, Eorlund," she said before turning and looking at every member of the Companions. "Kodlak, Farkas, all of you." Her eyes found Vilkas and her lips parted in a full smile. "Vilkas."

…

Maiah sheathed the sword and wrapped them carefully, thanking Eorlund once again. Because there were chairs were placed in front of the doors, and she was too shy to ask the people sitting to move for her, Maiah decided to head to the front doors of Jorrvaskr.

It was dimly lit but Maiah didn't feel discomfort. She carried her new swords past the Underforge, their weight balanced in her grip, when she heard a mechanical scraping and a low voice.

"Come here, girl."

Maiah looked and saw Skjor standing outside the Underforge. The stone wall behind him had seemingly fallen away, and firelight glowed within. Maiah took a couple of steps towards the one-eyed warrior when she spotted the massive black-furred beast waiting inside.

"What's going on? Who is that?" Maiah asked. She took a cautious step back and Skjor unexpectedly pounced, grabbing her shoulder in a meaty hand and turning her quickly, pressing a hand over her mouth. Maiah cried out but it was soundless. Her swords dropped to the ground, hardly making much of a sound than a weak thump, and she was dragged into the Underforge. Skjor shoved her forward and towards the hulking werewolf standing at the far end, and he pulled a chain, causing a rock door to slam down and trap her inside.

"What are you doing?" Maiah exclaimed, rushing at Skjor and trying to get by him to the chain. Skjor caught her and hoisted her up over his shoulder effortlessly. Her confused complaints became feeble cries as they grew nearer and nearer to the huffing beast. He dropped Maiah carelessly to the floor and towered over her with a grim expression.

"It is time," he said and she shook her head. "Skjor, what in Oblivion are you doing to me? Let me out!"

"I hope you recognize Aela, even in this form. She has offered to be your true Shield-Sister. That petty ritual outside was nothing compared to this," Skjor continued as though he heard nothing, circling around the hollow upraised bowl in the center of the Underforge. "No one will have to know…yet."

"Skjor…let me out," Maiah felt a sob in my throat and she stumbled to her feet, lunging at him and crying, "Let me out, dammit!"

He merely grasped her wrist and twisted her arm, sending bursts of pain up her arm into my shoulder. She wailed in pain, trying to pull away, but the pain only increased.

"This is the way," he said. Maiah looked around and glimpsed Skjor's face, a determined mask of insane sureness. He pulled a dagger from his belt and she screamed.

Aela shuffled closer, her wolfish face impossible to read, and she stretched out one arm over the stone bowl. He pressed the dagger to her wrist and sliced hard and cruelly. Blood spurted free and splashed into the bowl, turning the grey to a dull pink. Maiah stared in horror.

"Forgive me, my dear," he told her, reaching out and stroking Aela's jawline. The werewolf growled faintly and lowered her arm and Skjor hauled Maiah up, fisting the bloodied hand holding the dagger in her hair and forcing her to lean down with the other. Her nose was inches from the puddle of red.

"No," she howled.

"Drink! Become the beast!" he commanded.

"No!" she repeated, pressing against him, but to no avail did it work. Maiah stared down at the blood, tears pooling in her eyes.

"_Drink!_" Skjor bellowed and shoved her face down in it. Maiah had only a second to breathe in before air was replaced by warm, thick liquid. She snorted it in and choked, but Skjor refused to let her lift her head. She heard his voice in her ear suddenly.

"I will warn you now," he said coldly. "If you tell a single soul, I will gut you and feed your innards to every Companion outside of that door. Then, Hircine will feed your soul to his dogs in his Hunting Grounds."

Maiah burbled a sickened response, Aela's blood pressing between her lips and onto her tongue. It tasted foul and metallic, and her stomach heaved. She thought of Vilkas, desperately, and everything inside her snapped in pain as she swallowed.

…

_The beast awoke, its yellow eyes stretched wide in panic. Snapping and snarling, it fought to break free of the confines of smooth skin and soft white fabric. In its lesser body, it stumbled away from the other werewolf and the one-eyed man, staggering on hairless legs down the rock tunnel in which fresh air breezed. The smells of limitless freedom lay beyond._

_The beast collapsed here, feeling the ebb of human life trying to combat it, supress it. No, it wouldn't be untamed! The beast snarled, fighting the human confines, struggling and ripping and tearing, ignoring the human's cries and surging within its feeble blood._

_The beast smelled blood, animal blood, the blood of prey. An enraged growl tore from the beast's throat and it felt the human shrink away, leaving an opening in which the beast jumped. Fur tore free from soft skin, bones snapped and stretched, fangs and jaws protruded and curled into a feral smile. _

_The beast flung back its head, howled its victory and raced out and into freedom._

…

The celebration ended with the presentation of Maiah's new swords. The girl's smile was still fresh in his memory and he let his mind drift over their unfortunately short moments together. Vilkas was eager to see her again, to hold her close and let raw passion take them beyond Hircine's realm and Sovngarde, and into the unknown.

Vilkas had just closed his bedroom door when he felt it. The change was swift and sharp, like a cold wind in the heat of summer. He tasted it, smelled it…heard it: The pulsing of a human heart, feeble and frantic, a beat that had become a familiar tune. The heart gave out and a louder, harsher, angry pounding took its place. Even though the thick stone walls below the layers of earth, Vilkas heard the howl of a newly-changed werewolf.

The door to his room was slammed open and he raced down the hall, horror and disbelief pushing him faster. He tore up the stairs and out onto Jorrvaskr's patio. All of the lanterns had been extinguished and it was black except for the sliver of moon behind the rainclouds. Vilkas ran until he could see out over the plains. The stench of the werewolf was strong, too strong…

Farkas and Kodlak appeared as Vilkas was scanning frantically. His brother joined his side, his face etched in concern. Kodlak stared out, his old eyes narrowed as he plucked at trees and bushes. He suddenly pointed and said, "There."

The moonlight was just bright enough to illuminate the heavy-muscled figure perched at the top of a hill. Vilkas could smell the exhilaration and hunger wafting from it even from where he stood. The werewolf looked their way, the shift of its head a vague turn in the dark, and it howled long and in triumph. It turned tail and fled, and Vilkas instinctively jerked as though to follow. Kodlak's hand pressed to his chest and he stilled.

"Maiah," he mouthed her name before turning to Kodlak. "Why has she done this?"

Kodlak said nothing. He instead took a package from Farkas' hands and handed it to Vilkas. Vilkas unwrapped it and found Maiah's swords bundled inside.

"They were lying outside the Underforge," Kodlak sighed heavily. "I could smell Aela in her wolf form, and her blood. She and Skjor changed her and from the way things appear…it was against her will."

"Gods, no," Vilkas groaned, revolted at the idea. He recalled the first time he changed and shuddered, imagining what Maiah would face.

"Aela and Skjor are not here. I suspect that they are following her, leading her somewhere," Kodlak went on. "It seems that they believed they could harness Maiah to do their bidding, although I hope this is not true. Aela and Skjor are wiser than this. They would not have…"

"Or perhaps they did," Vilkas looked out across the plains once more. "And it had to be her."

"Do not let your heart get in the way with this," Kodlak warned. "Logic will likely do better than love."

"What shall be done?" Vilkas eyed the Harbinger, his tone guarded and his eyes steely. The Harbinger shook his head, clearly confused and as exasperated as Vilkas was. When he looked up at Vilkas, his gaze was sad and regretful.

"I do not know yet," Kodlak sighed. "But I do know that Maiah will be caught in the middle of the fray."


End file.
